


Feral Boys and Kittens

by Brumeier



Category: Stargate Atlantis
Genre: Established Relationship, Feral Behavior, Gratuitous Kitten References, Kittens, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:49:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866915
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/pseuds/Brumeier
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is 15 when he rescues a feral kitten. 23 years later his best friend and lover needs similar rescuing.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Feral Boys and Kittens

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Taste_is_Sweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Taste_is_Sweet/gifts).



> A belated Happy Birthday for my dear friend Taste_is_Sweet. My secret is out...this is what I've been working on since last week. I hope you like it!

**1985 ******

The kitten lived in the alley behind Noah’s Arcade, seemingly way too small to have survived on its own. John and his friends regularly hung out at the arcade, sometimes to play games like _Space Harrier_ or _Pole Position_ , and sometimes just to eat cheap pizza and challenge each other to endless rounds of foosball and air hockey. On occasion Billy Weber would swipe some of his dad’s beer and they’d drink it out in the alley, which is how John knew about the kitten. 

John didn’t have much experience with house pets. His dad took a very dim view of messes of any kind, and particularly those which left fur clinging to chairs and curtains. They had the horses, of course, but that was all contained in the stables and tended to by the hired hands. John and his brother had campaigned for a long time in favor of getting a dog, but their dad had remained firm. No pets. 

“Hey!” He shoved Duncan, who’d thrown his empty can of Schlitz at the kitten when it poked its tiny head around the side of the dumpster. “Don’t be a jerk.” 

“It’s just a stupid stray,” Duncan protested, shoving back. They got into a pushing match that ended up with John sprawled on his ass. 

“Will you guys grow up?” Billy finished off the last beer and tossed the can into the dumpster. “Come on. I heard there’s a pick-up game down at Henley Park. Let’s go.” 

“You go,” John said. He got to his feet and dusted himself off, not that it mattered. He’d stopped wearing the preppy clothes his father liked so much and had instead begun to emulate Judd Nelson, with ripped jeans and flannel shirts. Of course he’d never admit that to anyone, because he knew it was stupid, but since he was acting the rebel at home these days he figured he may as well look the part. 

“Don’t be a baby,” Duncan groused. 

“Shut up. I just don’t feel like playing ball.” 

“You know where to find us,” Billy said. He gave Duncan a shove and they left the alley together. 

John hated being pushed around, but he hated it even more when someone else was being picked on. Even a scrubby looking little kitten who lived under a dumpster. He squatted down and held out his hand. “Here, kitty, kitty.” 

There was no sign of it, and John wasn’t about to get on his stomach in the dirty alley to look for it. With a sigh he decided maybe he’d go to the movies. _Back to the Future_ was still playing and even though he’d seen it three times already it was good enough to see again. Or maybe he’d see the new Mad Max movie, which looked pretty good. In any case, he put the kitten out of his mind. 

Or he thought he did, anyway, but he went back to the alley the next day with a can of cat food. He slid it right next to the dumpster, then backed up to the wall on the opposite side and waited patiently. Less than ten minutes later John was rewarded when the kitten poked its head out and tentatively started to eat. He tried to inch closer, but the moment he moved the kitten zipped back out of sight. 

“Okay, buddy. Chill out. I won’t bother you.” 

John returned to the alley every day and by the end of the second week he’d managed to gain the kitten’s trust enough to pet it while it ate the food he’d brought. It was dirty and fleas were jumping all over it, but John could see the potential. 

On the third week he used the money he’d saved from his allowance and took the kitten to the vet. They cleaned him up and gave him shots, and when John picked him up a few days later he was like a brand new animal – fluffy white fur that stood up in tufts and big green eyes. He was still a bit skittish but John just tucked him under his flannel shirt and took him home. 

Doc – named for Doc Brown from John’s new favorite movie – became his first and only pet, even though he lived out in the horse barn. John and Hector built him a box to sleep in, lined with old towels, and the once-feral kitten turned into a sleek, mouse-killing feline and John’s constant companion and confidante until he left for Stanford. 

**1991**

Dave called to tell John that Doc had died in his sleep, curled up in the tack room on the saddle John always used when he went riding. The vet determined that it was feline leukemia, and told Dave they were lucky; not all cats who contracted the disease died so easily. 

John made a special trip home to bury Doc, and was grateful that his father was away on business. They’d had very little contact since he’d left for school, when he’d turned his back on the life his father had wanted for him to forge his own way instead. In just a few short months he’d graduate and then start his career in the Air Force. Soon he’d be able to fly. 

“I’m sorry,” Dave said. He handed John the small wooden box that contained Doc’s cremated remains. “He was a nice cat." 

John just nodded, running his thumb over the brass nameplate engraved with _Doc_. He appreciated his brother footing the bill for all of that, though he found he couldn’t get the words out past the lump in his throat. Dave seemed to understand just the same, squeezing his shoulder before giving him some time alone. He went right to the stables. 

There was nothing quite like the scent of hay and horses; it was one of the few things John missed about home when he was at school. Zipping down the road at one hundred miles an hour in a fast car was pretty awesome, but there was nothing like flying along a trail on a horse, hooves pounding and mane streaming, feeling all that power moving beneath him. 

“Johnny.” Hector came out of his office, wearing the same uniform of jeans and dusty chambray shirt like always. He shook John’s hand. “I’m gonna miss that old boy.” 

“Me too,” John said. The words were like razor blades in his throat. 

“You gonna bury him?” 

He shook his head. He couldn’t. John had only been seven years old when his mother died but he could remember his abject panic at her funeral service when they lowered her casket into the ground. Doc didn’t belong under the dirt, in the dark. 

Hector nodded. “There’s a shelf in the tack room. It gets a lot of afternoon sun.” 

“Thanks.” 

The tack room was warm, and smelled of oiled leather. John sat in the old wooden desk chair, wheels squeaky as they always were, and set the box on his lap. When things between him and his dad went bad, he’d had no-one to confide in. He didn’t want to ruin Dave’s relationship with their father, and he felt funny talking to Hector, or Marie the housekeeper, or Jeanette the nanny. And his friends never would’ve understood – they thought he had a sweet life because his dad had so much money. So he’d talked to Doc, who always listened patiently and never made him feel bad or guilty or wrong, not even when he admitted to checking out obnoxious Duncan in the locker room. 

“I’m really gonna miss you buddy,” John said. Later he’d put the box reverently on the shelf, where Doc could still lie in the sun, but right then he lowered his head and cried as he hadn’t since his mother died. 

*o*o*o*

**2008**

“What do you mean, you lost him?”

John didn’t give Carson a chance to respond as he swept down the hall. He’d spent the last two weeks aboard the Daedalus, his turn in the rotation to learn the captaining of the ship as backup in case the circumstances ever called for it, and he wasn’t happy to hear that during his absence they’d misplaced the single most important person on Atlantis.

“It’s the sickness,” Carson explained, steps quick to keep up with John’s. “The fever is likely affecting his brain function, possibly causing hallucinations. We couldn’t get close to him.”

“Do you have a treatment for it yet?”

“No. Well, I’m close, Colonel. Very close. But it won’t do a bit of good if I haven’t got a patient to use it on.”

From what little bit Carson had told him, Rodney had been offworld with Lorne’s team and he’d contracted a native bug of some kind. No-one was quite sure how it had happened, and only Rodney had gotten sick. A team had returned to PSR-334, suited up in hazmat gear, but they hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary; the bio labs were still testing all the samples that had been brought back.

“How can you be close to a cure if you don’t even know what’s making him sick?” John finally stopped, having reached his destination. He doubted very much that he’d find Rodney in his quarters – though he did a thorough check anyway – but his specialized LSD would be there and John needed it to find him. His stomach was in knots, thinking of all the ways that Rodney could be injured while under the influence of some mystery virus.

“Well, after Ronon stunned him –”

“Ronon did _what_?” John whirled around and pinned Carson in place with a glare. Carson stood his ground, hands on his hips and a scowl on his own face.

“I assure you, Colonel, it was the only way. While he was unconscious I was able to get some blood samples. I’ve been running tests and I know I’m near a breakthrough.”

“How did he get away from you?” John turned his attention back to the clutter on Rodney’s desk. He found the LSD under a pile of professional journals and some random computer bits.

“I had him under sedation, but the effects of the virus are unpredictable. He came out of it sooner than expected.”

John didn’t bother asking how one man had overpowered the nurses, Carson and whoever had been standing guard. He knew better than anyone else how strong Rodney was physically, had always been able to see past the bumbling façade. And now he was possibly hallucinating and very probably a danger to himself and others, and he was loose in Atlantis.

“Colonel, we already tried the life signs detector. Rodney’s is inoperable. Either the virus is interfering with the signal somehow, or he’s cut it out.”

“I’m not tracking his transmitter,” John said dismissively. “Get back to the infirmary. When I bring him in I want you to fix him.”

Carson bit back the questions he surely had and did as he was told, for which John was grateful. Time was of the essence and he didn’t want to spend it explaining things that were supposed to be just between John and Rodney. Besides, if he had to guess the reason for the non-working locator beacon his money was on Atlantis herself. As much as everyone made a big fuss about how the city responded to John’s supergene, he suspected that she loved Rodney even more, since he was the one who consistently kept her up and running.

“You better still have those tags on, McKay,” John grumbled to himself. If it was Atlantis masking that signal, he was hopeful she’d leave the other alone since he was the only other person who knew about it.

Rodney had redesigned his LSD to be much more user friendly, and to pick up other pre-programmed signatures and not just the subcutaneous transmitters. John tapped the screen to bring up a list of names and selected Rodney’s, which was at the top just below his own. He counted down ten seconds and then the device beeped and showed him a blue dot down in one of the unused sections of the West Pier that had been water damaged when the city had still been buried beneath the sea.

John tapped his ear piece. “Ronon. He’s on the West Pier. Stand by, I’ll radio you if I need assistance.”

_Be careful, Sheppard._

“Aren’t I always? Sheppard out.”

He headed for the nearest transporter, and had to take three more to get close to the area where Rodney was hiding. John followed the blue dot through hallways spotty with water damage and green growing things that might have been algae or mold. There was a musty smell in the air that had him wrinkling his nose.

Finally he tracked Rodney down to an empty lab, the tables bare and stained by salt water. The man himself was huddled in a corner, hands pressed against the side of his head. He was still wearing maroon scrubs from the infirmary but his feet were bare and his hair was standing up in unruly wisps.

John’s chest tightened to see him that way. He set the LSD aside. “Rodney? Hey, buddy.”

Rodney’s head snapped up at the sound of John’s voice and he made a noise in the back of his throat, something between a growl and whine. He pressed himself back against the wall, as if he were trying to burrow into it, his eyes wide and full of fear. John had a moment of powerful déjà vu, and then he sank down to the floor, sitting a fair distance away so as not to spook his partner any more than he already was.

“Relax, Rodney. It’s just me.” John held his hands up, palms out. “I won’t hurt you. You know that.”

The virus had turned Rodney into a skittish, wild thing. Worse, it seemed to have robbed him of his words as well, and John prayed it wasn’t permanent. He’d hate to have the last thing Rodney said to him be ‘If they have better coffee steal me some.’

“You hungry? I bet you are.” John reached slowly for one of the pockets on his tac vest and pulled out a chocolate peanut butter Power Bar, one of Rodney’s favorites. He peeled back the wrapping and held it out, arm stretched as far as he could. “It’s okay. You can take it. It’s good.”

Rodney watched him warily but he was clearly interested in the Power Bar. John waved it around a bit, just enough to get the smell of it in the air a little. That did the trick. Rodney scuttled forward and snatched it out of his hand before retreating back to the wall. He ate quickly, making the same little sounds of pleasure he always did.

John grinned. “Yeah, you’re still in there.”

The Power Bar quickly disappeared and Rodney made some urgent noises, holding out a hand expectantly. John dutifully produced another and opened it up, though he made Rodney come closer this time to get it. He wondered how long it had been since the other man had last eaten; he was acting completely ravenous.

It took two more of the chocolaty bars before Rodney kept close to John instead of scurrying away. John kept up a running stream of inane banter, his voice low and soothing. Once he’d finished eating Rodney visibly drooped, his eyes at half mast.

“You look tired, buddy. How about we go see Carson and you can get some sleep? Okay?”

Rodney grunted, which could have meant _yes_ or just as equally _oh hell no_. But the way to his heart truly seemed to be through his stomach, because he gave John an appraising look before leaning over to rest his head on John’s shoulder. The pleased sigh that escaped him made John’s heart constrict. He couldn’t help bringing his arm up and draping it across Rodney’s shoulders; there was a moment of tension and then Rodney all but melted against him.

 _Everything okay?_ Ronon’s voice crackled over the ear piece.

“Yeah, we’re good. Tell Carson to expect us within the hour.”

_We’ll be ready._

Rodney made contended noises and wrapped his arms around John, nosing into his neck. John rested his head against Rodney’s and heaved a sigh of relief. He knew everything would be okay.

*o*o*o*

Four days later Rodney was released from the infirmary, the virus eradicated. John took the day off to hover and make sure Rodney was comfortable. He was on strict orders to take it easy for one more day before he was permitted to go back to the labs, though John knew for a fact that he’d been communicating with his staff via his tablet.

“Stop…” Rodney waved his hand. His language skills were taking a little longer to return to normal, but John had gotten pretty good at reading him by now.

“You need to take a nap.”

Rodney gave him a glare that clearly said _I’ve been sleeping for days, back off_ , and John just glared right back at him. Knowing he was beat Rodney sighed and lay back in the bed while John messed around with the blanket.

“Idiot.” Rodney pulled him down and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “Stay.”

John had no problem with that. He curled up around Rodney, grateful that he had his bed partner back again. “Missed you.”

“You. Me.” Rodney huffed out an aggravated breath. “Me…too.”

“Hey, relax. You’re supposed to be taking it easy.” John rubbed the heel of his hand over Rodney’s sternum. “You know what I’ve been thinking about?”

“Football?”

He snorted. “No. I was thinking about this cat I had when I was a kid. His name was Doc and he was the only pet I ever had.”

“Cat? You?”

“Yes, me. He was a stray, lived behind this arcade I used to hang out at.” John kissed Rodney’s shoulder and then told him all about how an unlikely feral cat had become his best friend. The obvious correlations to their own relationship were left unspoken.

**Author's Note:**

>  **AN:** Well, it’s over a week late. ::hangs head:: But here’s your birthday fic, Taste! Like you said in your [Ushobwri ](http://ushobwri.livejournal.com/) post…you do love those feral boys. And kittens. ::grins::
> 
> Noah’s Arcade was borrowed from _Wayne’s World_ , because I love that name!


End file.
